


Town of Stars

by RB (BlueflowersandWings)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood has blue eyes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Conversations, Dancing, Don't copy to another site, Excuse any blatant mistakes, Festivals, First Meetings, Fluff, I know nothing about dancing, M/M, Some Plot, Supportive Isabelle Lightwood, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueflowersandWings/pseuds/RB
Summary: "Care for a dance?"It was only a simple invitation; nothing complicated. Wassupposedto be, at least. As Magnus discovers on his seventh night in this quaint little town, rumours were not just rumours, dances were not simply dances, and Alexander Lightwood, in all his rumour-drenched, dance-opposed glory, might just be the most intriguing walking conundrum he's ever met.Goodness. And it was only supposed to be adance.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	Town of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Like many of my works, this was supposed to be a fluffy drabble, but life has now and again reminded me that I may be genuinely incapable of writing short-and-sweet drabbles. _One day_ , I guess. For the time being, I hope you all enjoy... whatever this is. Just for a note, the characters mostly resemble their novel avatars (like Magnus is taller than Alec, Alec has blue eyes... etc.).
> 
> Happy reading!╰(*°▽°*)╯

  


"Care for a dance?"

  


Magnus turns away from the galaxy bursting overhead, to the glowing, slender fingers curled in invitation.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he smiles apologetically, grip tightening around the crystal stem of his glass. The dark liquid sloshes around it, fruity and sweet. "I'd usually love to, but-"

"Not feeling up to it tonight?" the girl arches a brow, crimson lips curving. "The Hunters' Night only comes once, you know?"

Shaking his head, Magnus grins. "Given the little week I spent around here, I'd say this town never runs out of occasions to dance." He spreads his arms, glancing around the bustling town-square, a warm cocoon of scents and fairy-lights and shards of dreams that melted away upon the gentlest kiss of daylight. "Again, I apologise. But I'm sure a beauty like yourself would find a partner to dance with in no time at all."

Despite his propensity for compliments, there's hardly any lie to it; the girl _is_ attractive, a lithe figure of smooth olive skin, alluring dark eyes, and a darker cascade of locks that flow down over her back and shoulders. She's tall, peach-gold dress accentuating her curves and edges at just the right places. If anything, her fashion choices could stand to charm Magnus off his feet; but as it is, she seems just _too_ young, and he truly isn't keen on dancing tonight.

"So that's a _'no'_?" the girl asks, surprisingly without bite. She looks amused, almost. "Is it just your feet, or rather a secret preference in company?"

Magnus takes a small sip of his drink, brows rising. "Oh, I can assure you it's not the company," he smiles, only slightly carefully. "Nor is it my feet, which, mind you, are _excellently_ trained," his mock-serious tone elicits a giggle from the girl. "It's just- the night, I think. The stars. Believe it or not, you've got a captivating sky here. The cities could never afford such a sight."

"So you _are_ from the city, huh?" the girl remarks. "I thought I heard rumours. Guess the gossips this time around weren't _that_ wild."

"You've heard about me?" Magnus asks.

"Everyone's heard about you," the girl counters. Her long, crimson-varnished fingernails catch the firelight as they stray over the banquet table, curling around a slender flute of champagne. "If you knew this town as well as I do, then you'd believe me when I say that word gets around here. _Fast_. We rarely get any tourists, excluding the festivals, so of course people will talk."

"Glad to know I've built a reputation," Magnus smiles. Piqued, he asks, "Is that why you-"

"Invited you to dance?" the girl finishes for him, again. "Not quite. I've seen you around, the last couple of days. Just thought I'd get to formally know you."

"I see." Magnus nods. "Though I believe if _I_ saw you somewhere, I wouldn't be forgetting you in a hurry."

The wide grin shot up at him is dazzlingly open and amused. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" she says, eyes glittering, and Magnus can only but shrug. "No wonder the girls at the bar kept gushing on about the new visitor. Even Andrew threw in a compliment. Quite an effect, if I may say so myself."

" _I_ cannot be charged for the fact that this town is filled with intriguing people," the words roll off Magnus' tongue like warm honey. He means it, some parts of the statement more than others. In the distance, over the din and chatter of the crowd, soft notes of a guitar strum poignantly into the air. "Honestly, I've become quite attached. In all my years of travelling, this might be one of the most delightful places I've stumbled across- even taking in account all these dances that you keep arranging like, every two days."

"Every two _hours_ , you mean," the girl smiles. "It's crazy, I know."

"Perhaps. But all the more enjoyable."

Silence settles between them heady and warm. Feeling no obligations to talk- a feat, truly, all thanks to this strange little beauty- Magnus' eyes scale the area, the stalls, the merrily dancing crowd. Shimmering stars wink against a dark sky overhead. He feels cut-off from the modern era he hailed from; the smoke and fairy-lights, the frills and drinks and neatly suited-up buskers- they transport him to some place not quite of this age. It's an isolated piece of a dream, a fantasy; an oasis rooted deep in ambient history. The vibes alone are enough to cast an illusion over his mind.

He had been admiring the stars, only moments ago. Now, unbidden and unchecked, his eyes skip across the town-square, settling upon the most riveting sight of all.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Yes," Magnus doesn't miss a beat, gaze trained steadily on the distance. "The activities of the recreational stalls are quite interesting to behold."

"Oh, yes. Of course," the girl nods. Stepping closer, near enough for Magnus to pick out a whiff of her faint vanilla perfume, she lowers her voice to whisper, "My bad. I thought you were admiring that guy destroying the competition with a bow and arrow, not the game itself."

A widening of eyes and slight tightening of his fingers are the only outward indicator's of Magnus' frankly jaw-dropping surprise. _Excuse me,_ he'd have gone, if he'd been more inclined towards maintaining a prim, spotless reputation. He simply had to have a reputation, that's all. _I'm sorry, how did you even get that idea,_ kind-of sounds too delusional; even if he had the energy needed to dismiss the claim entirely, he's not sure he'd have gone for that.

After all, it's quite the strange night. Deciding to do away with all pretences, Magnus lowers his voice and settles for a simple: "What gave it away?"

"The blatant staring, for starters," the girl remarks, smooth and confident. She's turning out to be one of the more interesting residents of this quaint little town. "Also, all that discreet ogling you've been doing since the last few days." The smile on her crimson lips is knowing, triumphant. "Told you I've seen you around."

Magnus thinks about that, for a moment. "That you did," he admits, thoughts taking shape. "And with frightening observance, if I may say so myself." He tilts his head towards her, eyes never leaving the archery stall- no, the man poised in front of it. Tall, dark-haired, and so, so gorgeous. "You saw through my actions with unusual sharpness, Miss. Should I be getting concerned?"

"Whatever should you be concerned for?" the girl huffs.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps about the fact that the man in question- who also happens to be the current object of my interests- is none but your loving elder brother?"

Dark eyes snap up to his expectant amber ones, parted wide and surprised. "How-" she starts, then stops. A sharp, delighted smile blooms across Magnus' features.

"Told _you_ I'd have remembered." The firelight casts upon his gaze a golden glow, lips leaving a gentle kiss on the rim of his glass. "Isabelle Lightwood, second-born of the renowned Lightwood family, founder and manager of _Lightwood Jewels_. Even if I had not spied you accompanying your brother on your many, many trips through the Market, your undoubtedly incredible collections would've soon caught my interest. You're slightly famous around here."

"A _reputation_ ," Isabelle sighs, with knowing exasperation. "How annoying can it be at the worst of times."

"Agreed," Magnus chuckles, feet tapping to the rhythmic beats of the festival. A new song pierces through the merriment- some of the dancing couples stray away from the centre, only for a dozen others to join in. "Not that it's not pleasant to make acquaintance of you in such a unique manner. If I was ever afraid of solitary boredom tonight, it's certainly been driven off a couple thousand miles from the cities."

"Quite the distance indeed," Isabelle says. She takes a small sip of her champagne, then exhales lightly. "I take it that you understand the real reason for my offer then?"

Magnus hums under his breath, but doesn't reply. "Actually," he says after a beat, "delightful as this has been, I'm still not sure as to what you could possibly have to do with me. Especially when you seem quite aware of my- _ah_ \- slightly _unorthodox_ romantic interests."

"What're you- still living in the Eighteenth century?" Isabelle scoffs. "This place may _look_ ancient, but we're not as far behind the cities as you think we are, you know?"

"And I'm infinitely glad for that," Magnus' smile indents the corners of his eyes, lids lined with dark kohl. "Enlighten me, then. What is it that I can possibly do for you tonight?"

Isabelle regards him, wordlessly. She's a captivating sight indeed; the dark hair that seemed to run in the family swelled voluptuously around her shoulders, skin glowing golden. Her eyes are dark, fathomless, a distinct contradiction to her brother's bright sky orbs- under the fairy-lights she looks mythical, almost a fae. Magnus has read enough stories, heard enough legends, and it's like an amalgamation of them all has been rendered solid in front of him today.

The sister's gaze is soft yet imploring when she says: "Charm my brother."

Magnus' eyes widen, brows threatening to disown his hairline. "What?"

"Charm him," Isabelle repeats, the ghost of a command. She comes from a family that may be well-used to ordering people around, but there's a note of plea in her voice, edged with a faint line of desperation. "Talk to him, get to know him. You've been here for a week, and you haven't made a single move yet. Am I to suppose that you're another one of those shy admirers, Magnus, too meek to take action?"

She's baiting him, Magnus understands. "Rain would hail upwards the day Magnus Bane would be accused of being _'meek'_ ," he retorts. "Perhaps I'm more of a 'watch-and-wait' guy, Isabelle. Have you ever considered that I might have my own reasons for _not making a move_? I don't recall sharing my love-life woes with anyone around here."

The jabs are there, subtle yet sharp. Isabelle accepts them with great dignity, slight embarrassment even. A distant ripple of cheers float from across the square; near the archery stall, someone seems to have vanquished the targets in a never-seen-before record. Magnus can only guess who.

"I know this sounds strange," Isabelle starts, "and I know you've heard the rumours. But Magnus-"

"So you know then, why I'm not too keen on setting myself up for a heartbreak?" If his hands were free, Magnus would've crossed them over his chest. A pointed, derisive glare has to do for now. "I may look easy- sometimes maybe I _am_ , too- but I take relationships seriously. I take _myself_ seriously. Rumours don't sprout out of thin air. If even half of what they say are true, I'm not going put myself through the pain of refuting them. It's stupid."

"No. It's my brother," Isabelle's voice rings serious. Magnus is slightly exasperated. "The rumours are true, yes. But they're not what they seem. Alec is-"

"Your _brother_ ," Magnus grits out, "is _engaged_. To the Lawyer Branwells. I'm all up for adventures darling, believe me, but I'm no _affair_."

Maybe it's the intensity of his voice, low and sharp and searing, like icicles of honey. Maybe it's the glare that accompanies it, or the words that leave a murky taste in his mouth- but Isabelle seems to mellow down. Quieten. It's notable, actually, the way she looks subdued even though they've shared silences before; her sharp, alluring curves seem blunt, the arch of her back suddenly morose. Magnus knows he's justified in his annoyance, in his reaction- and yet he can't help the little shard of guilt that prickles, stabbing it's way around his ribs. 

"Your brother," he starts gently, voice softer as if to soothe, "is captivating, I agree. Man or woman, I believe very few would be able to resist his charms. But just because you dissent the arrangement, or have something against the would-be bride, it doesn't make it okay for you to ask this of me, Isabelle."

"I know," the girl murmurs. The light petulance in her voice makes her sound like a child, almost. "I know that." Dark eyes snap up towards him, with electric fervour. "The rumours are true, all of them. But the engagement isn't. A _farce_ ," she lets out a derisive scoff, "is what this is. And Alec is just going along with it. At least, he _was_ ," her voice softens imperceptibly. "Until you came."

Magnus moves to rid his throat of its dryness, but finds his glass suddenly empty. "What do you mean?"

Isabelle shakes her head, resigned. Something catches her eye at the distance; she takes a final sip of her sparkling champagne. "I'm not the only observant Lightwood around here," she tells him, delicately. "If anything, I got it from my brother. Make of that what you will."

The empty flute stands tall upon the table, gazing at its owner who slinks black into the crowd with shadowy elegance. Magnus stares at her long after she's gone, only a ghost of sisterly concern enveloping the air.

She'd meant to be cryptic, he guesses. Problem is: Magnus is way too smart for what most people gave him credit for.

  


∴⨭ **∞** ⨮∴

  


"Care for a dance?"

  


It's the same scenario, different characters. Magnus relishes in the irony with a slight twinge of bitterness; to think that a beautiful, desperate sibling would have to coax him into a pseudo-manipulative conversation to get him to finally _make a move_. Quite disbelieving, for anyone who'd know him, and frankly a disgrace. After Isabelle's departure, he had spared himself a few moments to think, to debate, eventually settling on a solid conclusion that: Magnus Bane looked ridiculous in the shadows. He belonged in the limelight- haughty, confident, at the peak of dramatic unpredictability. Even if some offers were turned down, they were a part of the game. To burn through the rejections and reemerge victorious is what made these conquests so much fun anyway. Besides, it never hurt to try.

He should've done this a lot sooner.

"Um," Alexander Lightwood says, blue eyes wide, fair hands gripping onto the quiver of arrows slung casually over a shoulder. He was strikingly gorgeous indeed, even more so up close. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"I'm afraid we haven't," Magnus admits, a charming grin curling his lips. "But I'm sure we can rectify that. Festivals are nothing if not a mingling of new people and newer experiences, aren't they?"

The wide, half-incredulous look thrown at him hints that the other might like to dissent. Alexander seems thoroughly surprised at this advance, unsettled even. It's as if the thought of someone asking him out to dance had never even crossed his mind.

Magnus gives that a second's consideration, then no more. _Don't get in too deep_ , says that wise, exasperated voice in his head from some secluded corner of his brain. It sounds largely frustrated and very slightly resigned; considering the number of _incidents_ it'd had to deal with in the past month alone, Magnus can somewhat understand its grouchy temperament. He's truly sympathetic.

"Well?" he arches a brow, when Alexander parts his mouth, closes it, then parts it again, endearingly wordless. Magnus' golden fingers are curled expectantly. "I don't want to force you. Should I take it as a _'no'_ then?"

_It'd be helpful for my conscience, anyway. Better to have tried and failed than have won my way into some new complication._

"Uh," Alec says. His hand shoots out blinding fast, clamping onto Magnus' when he begins to pull away. "I-" he keeps his feather-light hold on Magnus' wrist for exactly two seconds, before hurriedly dropping it. His pale cheeks glow a faint rose in the firelight. "I don't- I can't dance. I mean, I'm not really good at it."

Magnus blinks. "That's alright," his voice comes out low, smooth, alluring. "I'm pretty sure I'm not half bad an instructor."

His words make something twitch at the corner of Alexander's lips; a half-smile, and probably the prettiest of its kind if Magnus had any say about it. The younger guy shrugs, the quiver on his shoulder cluttering, eyeing Magnus uncertainly through a curtain of sweeping dark locks. "Okay, uh. Let me just...?"

"Sure," Magnus acquiesces with a tacky little bow. "I saw you play before- have to admit, you were quite incredible. I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Oh. That was nothing." The way Alexander says it is devoid of arrogance, or forced humility; it's like he really means it, for _nothing_ to be _exactly that_ , just some sort of insignificant achievement undeserving of recognition. As a rush of noisy people crowd around the stall, Magnus strays away. He watches as Alexander places the quiver and the large, elegant bow in his hand on its original position, upon the crowded shop counter; then moving to straighten, turns towards Magnus with vague apprehension.

The fair palm he stretches out between them is upturned and nervous. "Um. If you still want to..."

In reply, Magnus takes his hand and steers him away into the pulsing, colourful heart of the dance.

  


∴⨭ **∞** ⨮∴

  


The thing about Alexander Lightwood, one should note, was how incredibly unaware he could be of his own beauty. Unlike his sister, who wielded her gifts like a golden whip, he seemed to sink under piles and piles of unflattering attires, dishevelled hair, looking awkward in his own skin. Even seven nights ago, when Magnus had looked up- accidentally- to lock eyes with the tall guy across the cafe for the very first time, those clumsy, floundering attempts at avoiding eye-contact had drawn him in. Surely he couldn't be that oblivious? Surely he knew the effect his looks had on most other people?

It took only three days' worth of discreet observation to deduce that that was _not_ the case. Most peculiarly.

"I'm sorry," Alexander says, hands tangled with Magnus', seemingly trying his best not to step on Magnus' toes and failing spectacularly. "I'll just- oh. Sorry again."

"As much as I'm enjoying this very scintillating conversation," Magnus tells him, bubbles of humour- even at the cost of his own rapidly-numbing toes- bursting randomly under his rib-cage, "I suggest you stop apologising every time you- _ow_. Okay. Let's just go slow for a while."

"Sorry," Alexander mumbles again, the tips of his ears beet red. If he'd been awkward before, now he exudes the stiffness and rigidity not unlike that of a thick plywood board.

Considering their current disposition and tragic attempts at following the music, they don't seem to attract much attention in the crowd. Maybe it's because there are a lot of people dancing, in twos and threes, couples and friends, regardless of gender. There are enough same-gendered pairs twirling around the square that no one cares to bat an eye at them. If they'd been in the city, things would've been distinctly different; it's ironic, to realise that with shiny, technological advancement the general acceptance of a society actually went _down_. Magnus envies this town, a little. The cities ought to have their inflated egos pierced.

Despite the comforting lack of attention though, Alexander feels tense in his hold. Uncomfortable. His feet are off-beat as usual, more so than ever.

 _Okay, this was a bad idea._ Delicately, Magnus starts, "Mr. Lightwood, if you want to stop, you know you just have to say the word."

The other man doesn't speak, opting to bite his bottom lip and burning a resolute hole through his boots. The hand clutching at Magnus' shoulder tightens, just barely.

"I'm not a good dancer," he bites out, slowly. "I warned you before."

"But that's not the problem, is it," Magnus raises a rhetoric brow. "Honestly, I've danced with worse partners. Compared to them, you're pretty decent. But I just can't help but feel that perhaps you don't wish to be doing this in the first place."

Bright blue eyes snap up to his, before straying away downwards. A sinking feeling settles deep in Magnus' gut.

He shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't have tried, flirted, taken a chance, when he _knew_ that Alexander was taken. That brief interaction with Isabelle had left him curious, shaken around his beliefs- but of course this had been a bad idea. Probably one of his worst. To flit around interesting people, charm them, reduce them to flusters- it worked well, _felt_ well. To do so with an _engaged_ man simply left a sour aftertaste in his mouth, even if, for a small, singular moment, he'd thought his interests might actually be reciprocated.

The Lightwood sister had planted seeds of ghosts in his mind. Magnus wants to pull away- _needs_ to, actually. He couldn't hurt himself like this.

Twinkling stars crash against the rainbow tints of the square. With sudden, whispered boldness, Alexander says: "This is the first time I'm... doing something like this."

Caught off-guard, Magnus blinks. "You mean... dancing at a festival?"

"Yeah," the man nods. "That. But I don't even attend these gatherings much to begin with." A small huff escapes him, with a barely-there smile. All of a sudden he looks sure, of his words and hands, though solid eye-contact still appears to be a distant fantasy. "These things keep happening so much that you get used to them, after a while. We used to come here a lot when we were kids... but not anymore. Even then, I don't think I was ever too keen on dancing."

"A tragedy," Magnus smiles. "Is that what's been bothering you? Not... the eccentricities of my rather exuberant company?"

Seemingly on instinct, Alexander tugs him closer. He seems unaware of it himself; his hands, pale against the dark of Magnus' suit and the gold of his fingers, clench in their hold. Magnus has a scant couple of inches on him; as his palm resting by Alexander's hip grows headily warm, dark locks come to graze lightly against his neck. The silver earring dangling from Magnus' left ear finds Alexander's cheek- and for a split-second Magnus flounders for breath, if only at this subtle, flushing warmth between their bodies.

"No," Alexander's words are tickling against his jaw, face angled down. "The company is... good. Really. It's just me." After a moment, he presses on: "Thank you for inviting me."

 _You shouldn't have to,_ Magnus doesn't say. _I've been meaning to do this for a very long time_. Aloud, he replies, "It was my pleasure."

They don't speak, for a minute. The hyperactive, guitar-strummed melody mellows down to something slower, more emotive; it's a pace they can work with, much to Magnus' surprise. Alexander moves, limbs fluid, picking on the technique as if it's second nature- he follows Magnus' lead, peeking at the crowd's movements, doing his best to imitate and with surprising grace. Even his feet, opposed to synchronisation as they are, seem to have gotten the memo.

As he twirls out of Magnus' reach, hands connected, then spins back against his chest, a delighted laugh escapes Magnus. "Oh my, that was _good_. You're quite the fast learner, Mr. Lightwood."

Alexander smiles at that, bashfully, but doesn't reply. A beat later, voice soft as a caress, he goes: "I have a decent instructor."

"Oh?" Magnus grins. "I've heard he's a good dancer, but he very rarely turns up good students. You must be a blatant exception to the rule."

Words seem hard for Alexander to settle on; fumbling around the act of putting voice to his thoughts seems quite intristic to his soul, if not dangerously endearing. Magnus hums under his breath and lets the music seep into his bones, trusting his body to maneuver him. He hasn't felt peace like this in a long time, the atmosphere blanketing this night seemingly fragile, suspended. His eyes rake around the square, loud and merrily alight; from over the tops of a giggling couple, he catches Isabelle Lightwood's gaze trained steadily upon them.

Her eyes are dark, narrowed, unwavering. A corner of her crimson lips gently curl up, almost without thought.

"So, I heard. Are you really from the city?"

Magnus glances down to the eldest Lightwood, fair face curious, blue orbs glowing like luminous lanterns under the starlight. "Yes," Magnus nods, and for a rare moment wonders if having such a widespread reputation was going to get him into trouble sometime here. "I like to travel, quite a lot. I _also_ happen to like this town very, very much- I'm actually thinking about extending my vacation a little." He lowers his lashes, deliberate, expression no doubt a picture of impish mirth. "I wonder- would that be a pleasant idea for you?"

"I-" Alexander's eyes widen. "You- you shouldn't plan your stay around _my_ opinions. We don't even know each other."

"But we can start to," Magnus counters. "Besides, you've heard of me."

"Yes," Alexander nods. He swallows then, suddenly looking away. "As I'm sure you've heard of _me_."

Magnus feels the dark, soft silk bristle under his palm. The man is rigid again, but his body moves along the beat, almost mechanically. "I _have_ heard of you," he confesses, slowly. "Admittedly, your family has quite the repute in this area."

A sigh escapes Alexander. Something shutters in his gaze- Magnus loathes that expression, even though he cannot guess what's concealed underneath. "I know," he softly says. "Of course you'd hear. You've been here for a week. That's plenty of time."

Magnus opens his mouth- to say what, he doesn't know- but Alexander shakes his head, words tumbling without pause. "I know you've heard of me. Else you wouldn't be dancing with me in the first place." He looks up, catching Magnus' eye, steady and true. Gone is the gentle uncertainty in his tone, replaced by some foreign surety that looks quite at home on his person, if not for the wrong reasons entirely. "You made this evening eventful for me, enjoyable- and for that, I'm grateful. But you shouldn't alter your plans because of me. That's not- that's not fair. For you, I mean."

Honestly, Magnus doesn't catch what he's talking about- sometime between one breath and the next, he'd lost trail of the conversation. Considering him, it is a dire occurrence truly; Magnus Bane is nothing if not wittily chivalrous and attentive, especially towards people of interest. He doesn't leave someone hanging, much less give up the reigns of an entire conversation.

Alexander is looking up at him through dark lashes, curious and without guile. Distracting as it is, Magnus can only think, a knot of thoughts jumbling in his mind. _You've been here for a week,_ he hears, followed by an abashed, _I'm not a good dancer, I warned you before_. Bits and pieces of exchanges, random yet with purpose- he's rifling through them, searching for something, something specific- and he finds it less than it crashes right into him, slowly and then all of a sudden.

_I'm not the only observant Lightwood around here,_ Isabelle had said before, eyes glittering. _Make of that what you will._

Of course. _Of course_ , Magnus gets it now. It's surprising, yes, and enlightening in a way- but it leaves him hanging for so much. He doesn't know what to do with that.

Shaking those thoughts away, Magnus opens his mouth, and very simply asks: "Mr. Lightwood, do you think I asked you out to dance tonight because I knew of your family?"

Alexander looks startled. Whether he's surprised at the question or at him resuming the conversation, Magnus cannot guess. "I- you mean- you _didn't_?"

" _Of course not_ ," Magnus huffs, distractedly following the way some of the dark strands on Alexander's head ruffle with his breath. "I don't know the customs you people follow around here- but for me, dancing is an enjoyable source of entertainment, and I don't choose my partners _that_ frivolously." He glances up, heavenwards, as if starting to lose interest already. "I've discovered that most rich people are snobs anyway. No one likes dancing with snobs. They're such a frightful _bore_."

Alexander's eyes are wide, jaw slack. Magnus hopes he doesn't take that not-so-vague jab at his financial brethren seriously to the heart.

"So, you're-" he starts, then seems to think better of it. "So it's not like you-"

"Alexander, have you ever just considered that I asked you for a dance simply because I _wanted_ to? Because I might've been _interested_ in you?"

The open, wordless stare he receives is answer enough.

They don't speak, for a long time, but Magnus finds himself failing at distracting himself. The skies above are fantasies he'd never beheld, a sight robbed away from the cities; but the blue of Alexander's eyes remind him of a brewing storm, something raging and vast and _loud_ he absolutely cannot look away from. The young man is silent, lips pursed; but sometimes gazes speak better than words, and Magnus finds that there could be some rare moments, rare people even, around whom he'd want to actively discard his voice. Everything didn't need to be said out loud; sometimes silver silences could carry through as well.

"I'm sorry," Alexander says, finally. When Magnus arches a brow, he shakes his head with a frown. "No, I shouldn't have assumed. I apologise for belittling your intentions like that. It wasn't... it wasn't fair."

"A lot of things in the world aren't fair," Magnus tells him philosophically. "Are you going to start apologising for every unfair thing that might happen to anyone around your vicinity?"

He'd only meant that rhetorically, of course, but the words seem to sting Alexander deeper than expected. "I can't," he says, a grim determination tightening his mouth. "I can't do that, but I can _try_. I can try to make things fair, to make things a little better for other people. Even if the end-results remain the same, at least my efforts would've changed something. Maybe one person's life, maybe a hundred's. But I think we still owe them enough to try."

"Owe _whom_ , Mr. Lightwood? The world?" Magnus huffs. "The entire world can't be your responsibility. It shouldn't be anyone's. The sacrifices needed to right the world of itself- now _that_ would be quite an unfair demand too, don't you think?"

Plush lips smooth out into a thin line, blue eyes unreadable. "But what if someone _needs_ to do it?" he inquires. "What if someone doesn't want to, but the cost of _not_ doing something is greater than that? Greater than everything?"

 _Then all those who'd dare to want you are doomed,_ Magnus thinks, sardonically. _Just like me._

This is not a simple conversation, he understands; it's an exchange veiled under an exchange, a test of wills under the frail deception of world philosophy. If Magnus hadn't met Isabelle before, maybe he wouldn't have picked on it- but then again, the stormy question writ clear on Alexander's expression says a lot without being explicit. He's sacrificing something- himself, probably. Something to trade for the world. It's a predicament he's seemingly already accepted, though his sibling doesn't appear to be on that same wavelength yet.

Call him crazy, but this vague show of altruistic bravery is doing _very little_ at quelling that tiny spark of attraction Magnus entertains for this charming Lightwood boy. If anything, it only serves to fan the flame, spurring it on to reach monstrous, all-consuming heights.

Oh well. Looks like complications aren't ready to stop being a thorn in Magnus' side just yet.

"If you ask me," he begins after some consideration, breath misting into ghosts around his lips, "then I'd say that the world is more than capable of fighting for it's own honour, Mr. Lightwood. It'll survive. And if someone can't trust it to do that, then they probably don't respect it as much as they think they do."

Something clicks across Alexander's face; instantly, Magnus is convinced that that was the precisely right thing to say. The younger man seems to mull over his words; Magnus lets him, curious to see how it'll be interpreted. The music had turned into something peppier again; this time they can catch up to it fairly quickly. Alexander looks up, eyes silently seeking him out. Magnus tilts his head, waiting for the man to speak.

"Mr. Bane-"

"Alec!" someone calls out. Their little moment is broken in a spectacularly rude manner; even the lazy, droning voice in his mind is cursing mutinously at this very unwelcome interruption.

Something interesting happens to Alexander's face though. There's a petite woman dressed in white, her fair skin glowing, long blonde hair braided in a coiling bun overhead. She smiles widely while waving at them; but the eldest Lightwood's face shutters in a blink, features smoothening into a mask. His grip has gone tight, feet rigid again. It's like the Alexander Magnus had been flirting and dancing and having veiled conversations with under the stars had never existed to begin with.

"I have to go," he says. Even his voice comes out carefully neutral, if not a touch urgent. "I'm sorry- I can't stay here anymore."

"Of course," Magnus acquiesces, dropping his hands and detangling their fingers, the telltale warmth of Alexander's touch still pinking his palms. He nods towards the girl who waits by the edge of the crowd, oddly patient. "You have your duties. And one shouldn't keep a lady waiting."

"Yeah," Alexander says. He sounds strangely hollow, gazing at the girl with inscrutable eyes. He turns towards Magnus then, and Magnus thinks he imagines the slight brightening around Alexander's edges, as if Magnus was a far more comfortable sight to look at. If only. "Um- thank you. For the dance. Thank you for, uh, inviting me, and teaching me, and, well- everything." The gentle twitch of lips betrays the smile he seems to be stifling unconsciously. Magnus can only wonder why. "I- this evening was... good. Really good. Thank you again."

"Please don't bother," Magnus swats a hand, forcing on a sharp grin to not let his disappointment show. "I should be thanking _you_ for accepting my invitation in the first place. Besides," he tilts his chin towards the girl dressed in white, "I'm pretty sure you've still got a long evening left with your no doubt wonderful companion."

"Oh, Lydia's not-" Alexander falters, as if unsure how to continue. "She's not my-" he stops again, then shakes his head. Finally, he settles on a quiet, "Yeah, I guess you could say that," though his expression suggests distinctly otherwise.

They stand there, awkward and close, neither willing to unfreeze their toes of the limbo they'd undoubtedly fallen in. Magnus doesn't want to be the one to cut this short, doesn't want to make himself tell Alexander to leave (though, it seems, he _must_ )- but like the sacrificing man he is, Alexander spares him of the trouble, starting to turn away slowly.

"Have a good night, Mr. Bane," he tells him, then smiles, taking a few steps away from him. Towards the pretty girl in white.

 _Don't go,_ Magnus doesn't say. _Call me Magnus,_ he doesn't say. _Your sister insinuated that you didn't want to get married, I want to know more,_ he absolutely doesn't say.

Instead, he calls out: "Have a good night too, Mr. Lightwood."

A wave, a gentle fluttering of dark lashes. Then the dancing bodies and overzealous notes crowd into the space the ghost of Magnus' intriguing dance partner had once so enigmatically occupied. It almost feels like an end- an end to something that didn't even get a start to begin with.

  


∴⨭ **∞** ⨮∴

  


On his way back to the hotel, Magnus calls up Catarina.

  


_"Wait, so,"_ she starts, and Magnus can almost feel the scepticism colouring her tongue, _"you're going to stay there for who knows how long, and you won't even tell me why?"_

"I assure you, it's nothing significant," Magnus tells her. Even after years of practice, lies sit heavy in his mouth, greying his conscience. He _knows_ Catarina wouldn't fall for it for a minute, but he tries. He knows her enough to guess that she'll not push, not if she sees he's actively trying to avoid it. "Let's just say that his place has me enamoured. I absolutely _cannot_ leave when I know I'm going to regret not spending a second week here. You know me, Catarina."

 _"Quite unfortunately,"_ she sighs. Magnus decides to not take offence at that. _"But it's unlike you, Magnus. As far as I understand, not one place has held your interest for long. The only times that happened-"_

"I was intrigued?" Magnus offers.

 _"You got besotted,"_ she shoots him down, with frightening accuracy. _"Magnus, who is it this time?"_

"There isn't _anyone_. How can you insinuate-"

_"Magnus."_

"Cat, seriously-"

_"You know I'm right. Out with it, you old prick."_

"You sound like Ragnor," Magnus tells her with all the bitterness he can muster without resembling a pouting child. He glances up at the inky black sky, a frosty sigh falling from his lips. "Okay, you're right, there _is_ someone." He inhales a deep breath. "It's a boy. A man, really. Tall, dark-haired, gorgeous blue eyes- you know the works. _But_ -" he bites out before Catarina can interrupt, "I'm not giving you anything more than that. It's all still a little tentative, I want to give it some time."

 _"Right,"_ Catarina says, and for some reason sounds like she doesn't believe him at all. _"Time. Which is why you're staying."_

"Which is why I'm staying."

There's a little sigh on the other end of the line, exhaled soft and gentle. _"Magnus, you know I won't try to change your mind- god knows I _can't_. Just- are you sure about this? At the end of the day, do you really think that boy is worth all this?"_

About that, Magnus thinks. He thinks about Alexander Lightwood, with his dark hair and darker suit, pale skin flushed, bottle-blue eyes glowing like liquid galaxies. He thinks about his hands, his feet, his adorable tendency to stumble and stutter. He thinks about his half-smile, about his strong grip, thinks about _oh, that was nothing_. He thinks about Isabelle, and her collection, and the Lightwoods- and then he thinks about that elated little skip his heart did that first time they saw each other.

That very same heart Magnus felt cracking a little when Alexander stooped down to press a gentle kiss on Lydia Branwell's cheek.

"Yeah," he exhales, somewhat shaky around the edges, throat tight. "I'm sure about it." How could he not be?

He'd been observing him, after all. Since the first day, time and time again, Alexander Lightwood had stolen his gaze, even with metres of distance between them. Magnus had followed him while he made his way across the town-square; followed him, when pale hands let themselves be gripped by the pretty girl in white, a smile etched bright across her face. He followed him when Alexander leaned down, tantalisingly close to her mouth; tilted his face just so to let his lips meet her cheek instead, almost like an afterthought.

All that while, Magnus followed bright blue eyes that remained steadfastly locked with his, uncaring of the lights, the crowd, his own blushing _fiancee_. They never wavered, not once, at least before the waves of the dance swelled and belatedly swallowed them up.

Oh, Magnus would be a fool to leave this town behind just yet. It was imperative he stuck around; just in case.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope that was enjoyable! Thank you very much for reading; if you liked it, please feel free to drop in a kudos or a comment, they honestly make my day! I may add more to this 'verse, but for the time being, I hope it'll be satisfactory as a stand-alone, too.
> 
> Stay safe, everyone, and take care! Hope you have a great day/night, wherever you are! Bye bye! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ


End file.
